Frozen
by xCookie93
Summary: Will Holmes be able to survive the ice-cold river? One-shot. Rated M to be sure.


It is early winter. I feel the ice-cold air in my face, as I walk down the street, my walking stick in my gloved hand. I have been close to slip a couple of times because of the ice on the cobble stones. Last night was by far the coldest night we have had this year.

Walking from my house, where I live together with my beautiful wife, I hope to run into Holmes in Baker Street. I have not seen him for quite some time. Though, I do know that he has a big case going on, so I do not find it strange that he is not the one to come to me. After all those years living with Holmes, I only find it appropriate to check up on him.

I pull my scarf a little closer around my neck, as I walk along the river.

Suddenly out of nowhere I see a crowd by the river, and as I approach the crowd, I see that it is definitely Lestrade and his men. Lestrade is watching the river while the policemen are spread by the riverside.

As curious as I have become in the time with Holmes, I walk down to the river.

"Lestrade," I greet before he turns around, and I tip my hat in a friendly gesture.

"Oh, doctor," Lestrade says with a sighing voice and nods a single time. He focuses on the river once again, while I get to his side, also watching the river then him.

"What is going on?" I ask, frowning slightly.

Lestrade does not hesitate and looks at me. "A witness," he points in direction of a middle-aged woman standing by a policeman, "says that she saw a human-shaped figure dropping into the river, probably off the bridge. We are trying to find this so-called human, if she is even right about it. I am starting to doubt it."

I do not have an answer to that statement. I can only assume that finding anything in the river would be luck.

I shudder because of the cold and consider walking off and let the men do their job on their own, when a whistling sound appears somewhere on our right. Both Lestrade and I turn our heads in the direction, just as a voice yells.

"Over here!"

Lestrade is immediately on his way closer to the riverside, and I cannot help but follow him.

As we approach the river together, I see to men pulling a man out of the water by his arms, his head hanging loosely and his hair covering his face.

I feel a lump in my throat, when I recognise those dark curls, and I almost stop in my tracks. I watch as the two men lay the body down onto the ice-covered stones and turn him around, now lying on his back.

I was right. It cannot be true.

I feel myself almost being choked when I let out a gasping breath and rush forward, pushing one of the policemen out of sight, before I drop to my knees beside Holmes' still body.

I feel stiff. I can't move. I stare at my friend who is as pale as a corpse. Holmes' lips are tinged with blue.

I kick myself out of my stare and place a hand on Holmes' cheek, saying his name almost as quiet as a whisper. My doctor instinct kicks in after that as I remove one of my gloves and press two fingers against the detective's neck in hope of finding a pulse. Let him be alive. Please God.

I keep pressing further into Holmes' skin in attempt to call for a beat.

And that is when I feel it. A weak pulse. Thank God. As I remove my fingers, I start to pull off my coat.

"He's alive," I state. "Bring me coats, blankets, anything to keep him warm." Just as my words come out, I tug my own coat around Holmes' torso.

"Holmes," I plead, "please, Holmes, wake up. You don't dare..."

I can hear my own pulse in my ears and my own breathing as I try checking for a pulse once more.

I cannot find any. Where is that beat? Where is it? I need it! I need him!

I try moving my fingers around, wishing that I felt the wrong place.

There is no sign of life. I remove my hand, moving it to my lap, and I just sit there, staring at Holmes. There are no sounds around me. The only thing I can here is my own breath which is hanging in front of my face like a fog.

Feeling tears in my eyes, I move a hand to Holmes' head, running my shaky fingers across his dark, icy hair. I feel the tears spill down my cheeks where they crystallise. The tears are almost blocking my eyesight. I feel my mouth twitching, feel my heart sink, feel… broken. How could this happen? Why? Why him?

A sob cracks through my now parted lips and I bend my head, withdrawing both hands to embrace myself. And I sob. I sob like I have never done before. How could he leave me?

I look at my friend's face once again only to see it being covered by a policeman who pulls my coat all the way over Holmes' head, placing a hand on the covered forehead.

I close my eyes again, trembling with anger. Frozen.


End file.
